


Big Green Monster

by convolutedConcussion



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jealousy, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 14:44:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15245625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convolutedConcussion/pseuds/convolutedConcussion
Summary: “I--what?” he laughs a little too forcefully, shaking his head.  “Wynonna’s just my partner.” It's thejustthat feels like a lie on his tongue, but what else is he supposed to say?  Is he supposed to reveal his whole complicated backstory with a near perfect stranger?  Tell her that he's been in love with her,piningafter her, for way too long and how much it sucked that things just sorta settled back to normal after she came back?Yeah, probably not.





	1. Chapter 1

It wasn't, like, Dolls’ intention to walk away from this encounter with a phone number, honestly.  He and Wynonna had only come to question a witness to this week's weirdness--it just so  _ happened _ that Talia Ehrlich was new in town (“Who moves to Purgatory by  _ choice?”  _ Wynonna had asked), apparently making good use of an empty storefront and small town affinity for kitschy little shops, and it just so _ happened  _ that as they left, he'd heard her call his name.  He'd gone back to her where she stood in the doorway of her store, and she'd handed him a business card with her cell number scribbled on the back and said, dark eyes sparkling, “In case you have any other questions.  Or you wanna show me around.”

Dolls bit back the  _ you can see the whole town from here _ and instead said, “Alright, I'll… thanks.”

He hadn't waited for her response before turning with a cringe, shoving the card in his pocket, and walking back to the SUV.  While she'd eyed him inscrutably, Wynonna was mercifully silent on the subject for the ride back to the station. In fact, she's been awfully quiet since they returned--given that their newest demon can manifest into their victim's biggest fear, à la Pennywise, he'd have guessed she'd have more to say on the subject.  Instead, she appears to be putting an awful lot of effort into being productive and remains pretty mute until finally he can't take it anymore. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing?”  She frowns and tilts her head to one side, but he's never seen her look so neutral so it can't be  _ nothing _ .  He tries to convey that sentiment with a look and must do an okay job because she counters, “So, what did New-In-Town have to say that was so secret?”

“Nothing--she gave me her card,” he explains.  Something flashes in her eyes but he isn't sure what, and he adds defensively, “In case we had more questions.”

For a moment, they hold eye contact in spite of his warming face--he asks himself why he’d even omit the second part, why it feels like he's doing something wrong, but he doesn't much like the answer.  They're not a thing, he shouldn't feel  _ guilty _ and beyond that… beyond that, he's not gonna call her.  She seems nice, but he really doesn't even have time for that sort of thing, and, besides--

That line if thought gets derailed when she looks away and says, “Sure, Dolls.”

That's not what he expected at all and it's gotta show on his face but she just pulls out her phone and resumes her silence.  It's irritating, it gnaws at him, and he debates whether or not it's worth it to pursue this conversion any further. In the end, he decides to continue transferring his notes into the file on his laptop--an old habit, but since they're  _ technically _ employees of the town of Purgatory (he doesn't ask how Nedley swung it and the sheriff doesn't volunteer the information) he figures it's probably best to keep some kind of record of things.  Besides, it's a familiar task that he doesn't really even have to think about, and who knows? Maybe it'll be useful someday. Plus, it's either focus on this or focus on the chill radiating from across the table.

Except it really doesn't take all that long--Talia is one of the only two people who have actually seen the thing and lived to tell the tale, and they interviewed the other a week ago.  Plus, there wasn't a ton she could tell them, she hadn't even been the target. So, they sit there, and Dolls pretends it's not suffocatingly awkward. Probably driven by inaction--and  _ hunger _ \--he stands and says he's going to the diner to pick up lunch, offers to get her usual, and at least she looks up to say thanks, however flat and insincere it feels.  As he leaves the station, he realizes he could probably drive himself in circles trying to figure out what's going on because the thing is is that, if he knows anything any Wynonna, it's that she runs hot.  In the years he's known her, he's never known her to be cold like this. While the woman can hold a grudge, he's only ever seen hot flashes of anger.  _ This _ he doesn't get--and, anyway, why would she be angry?  He's not exactly  _ proud _ that the thought that she could be jealous is gratifying, but he dismisses it pretty quickly--he's seen her jealous, too, and conflicted, and she doesn't shut down and he's  _ never _ seen her this reserved.

He's so consumed in the mystery that shouldn't even be a mystery that he blanks the whole drive to the diner, which would be way more alarming if not for the fact that he could probably navigate Purgatory with his eyes closed.  Drunk.

Perched at the bar, he orders their usual lunches and a coffee for himself as he waits.  Moments later, though, he feels a hand on his forearm, there and gone, as none other than Talia herself takes the stool next to him.

“Long time,” she grins.

He smiles back reflexively and nods in agreement before asking, “Don't you have a shop to run?  I didn't see any clerks when we were in there earlier.”

“Closed for lunch, the perks of being a small business owner,” she responds, arching a brow at him.  With the way she's bundled up even inside--she hasn't even moved to take off her scarf--she looks distinctly like someone better suited to life closer to the equator, but before he has a chance to ask, she says, “I'm really sorry if I totally came on to you in front of your girlfriend, by the way.”

“I--what?” he laughs a little too forcefully, shaking his head.  “Wynonna’s just my partner.” It's the  _ just _ that feels like a lie on his tongue, but what else is he supposed to say?  Is he supposed to reveal his whole complicated backstory with a near perfect stranger?  Tell her that he's been in love with her,  _ pining _ after her, for way too long and how much it sucked that things just sorta settled back to normal after she came back?

Yeah, probably not. 

“Oh?  ‘Cause you seemed a little…” she pulls a face.

Cringing, he says, “It just caught me off guard.”  Truth. She gives him a curious look. “What's the  _ best _ way to say I'm out of practice without sounding like I live, breathe, and make love to my job?”

That gets him a laugh.  “I guess, given what your job  _ is _ , I can understand it might make dating a  _ touch _ complicated,” she concedes, laughter in her eyes.

“That, and, as you'll learn, my partner and I aren't the most popular around here,” he shrugs.  “Small town mentality, and I'm not from around here.”

“And Wynonna?”

“Complicated.”  Also truth.

The conversation pauses as she orders her own lunch and Dolls nurses his coffee.  It feels… strange. Sitting here, having a chat. It's not the kind of thing he does, generally.  The closest he comes is the few times a week he has some kind of awkward run-in in the break room when he's trying to make coffee with one of the deputies--for the most part, he lives and breaths his job because what else is there to do?

He must have gotten deep in that vein because the next thing he knows, she's waving a hand in front of the mug he's staring through with a gentle, “Earth to Xavier?”

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

“It's no big, just thought I lost you there,” she winks.  After a moment, she bites her lip and looks down at her water and asks lightly with amusement still coloring her voice, “So, is this your tactful way of saying you're not gonna call me?”

“No, I--” He's saved by a brown bag being dropped on the bar in front of him.  “Guess this means I gotta get back to work,” he says even as he's standing, tossing a handful of bills next to his half-full cup.  “I'll, uh, see you later, I guess.”

He escapes before she can respond and, safely in the SUV, reminds himself that he has, in fact, spoken to people without making an ass of himself before the realization hits that  _ he has no intention of calling her so why did he say no?  _  With a groan, he starts heading back to the station.  It shouldn't even matter, but now he feels like teenager who can't talk to girls.

When he gets back inside, he finds Wynonna sitting sideways in one of the office chairs with one foot planted firmly on the seat, knee to her chest, chin on her knee, Nicole sitting close-by.  As soon as he opens the door, he gets the distinct impression he’s intruding on a private conversation because both go silent as Nicole looks pointedly at him.  _ Don't like that _ , he thinks as he starts unpacking their food.  Once he finds the container that belongs to him, he mutters something about research, grabs his laptop, and holes up in his office mostly to stew in his own misery but partially because if Wynonna's occupied then she's not being all weird pointedly not in his direction.  Unfortunately, that doesn't leave a whole lot in the way of distractions and as he eats he finds himself unable to stop worrying the business card he's taken out of his pocket.

A few days later, as Dolls is on his way out the door with every intention of going to the grocery store because if he eats out one more night his debit card is gonna grow legs and leave him, Waverly bounds up to his side.  That should really tip him off that something is going on, especially given she walks out with him since Nicole is still on duty and Wynonna's already left.

“You're getting groceries, right?” she asks as he opens the door for her.  He nods. “Can I convince you to take me with you and drop me back here? Wynonna drove me on her bike and then  _ left me here _ .”  She waits for him to agree before grinning and continuing, “My working theory is that she remembered  _ after _ we got here that we also need groceries because some of us, not naming names, can't live on whiskey and Bagel Bites alone.”

“You're joking,” he says, mildly amused and feigning surprise.

Head bobbing, she says, “Sometimes she adds a gas station burrito into the rotation.  Maybe a Slim Jim.”

He also opens the passenger door for her and shuts it gently as she settles into the seat.  Once he's behind the wheel, he asks, “Are you sure you want me to bring you back here and not just take you home?”

“It's fine, Nicole is off in like two hours, but by then…”

“Store's closed, right,” he finishes.

The drive is short and relatively quiet--like her sister, Waverly fiddles with the radio, but she doesn't touch the volume--and it's not until they get out and head into the store with that she snags a basket and says, “So, I heard something really interesting about that lady who opened up a new store where Harry's Hobbies used to be.”

“What's that?” he asks as disinterestedly as possible.

“That she's, like, way into you and gave you her number,” she responds easily, eyeing the bagged salads.  At his look, she shrugs, “It's a small town, Dolls. Plus, I like tacky kitsch as much as the next girl.”

“That still doesn't explain how you know she gave me her number or that she's way into me,” he says dubiously. 

“Doesn't it?” she narrows her eyes playfully and laughs.  “She has this thing like twice weekly apparently, it's like a stitch-and-bitch but she calls it Talia’s Timeout--which is adorable, by the way--and I went--”

“I didn't know you knit,” he interrupts. 

“I like learning new things,” she counters, edging on defensive.  He gets an odd feeling there's something else at play here. “Anyway, Moscato was served, needles were dropped, you came up.”

“Uh… huh…”  They mosey through the aisles, grabbing stuff as they go and doing their best to keep their items separate.  Eventually he asks, “And your sister doesn't have anything to do with your sudden interest in Talia?”

Now, Waverly looks genuinely confused.  “No--wait, was she there?” Confused turns into baffled turns into curious, but whatever she's thinking she keeps to herself.  For several minutes he thinks the conversation is over, but then she asks, “So, why haven't you called her?”

“Earp, c'mon.”

“You can't just get out of answering by calling me that, you know,” she accuses.  “I don't, like, expect you to actually talk to me about your feelings for W--well, you know.  You can, but I know it's not something you're gonna do, but you're family. All any of us wants is for you to be happy.”

It's said with such earnestness that he can't bring himself to respond.  Not to mention how plainly she alluded to his feelings--he's that obvious?--he's not even sure what he could say.  So, he bumps into her side and drapes an arm around her shoulders quickly before going back to pushing the cart, pretending not to notice her surprised smile.  It's a long time before either of them says anything, allowing themselves now to retreat into safer, more familiar territory--that is, mostly chiding one another for their dietary choices.  By the time they're done, he's gotten way more junk food than he would have were he shopping alone, and they find they spent so much time in there that, once they get back to the station, she'll only be waiting 20 minutes.

She doesn't get out immediately, instead she stares at her fingers for a few moments before she says, “I know my opinion here is totally unsolicited, but that's what family is for, right?  I think you should go out with her.”

“Uh, what?” he demands eloquently.

“Well, I think it would be good for you.”  Her eyes come up to his and she appears to examine him.  “Just, you know. To see someone new,” she shrugs, but her tone is loaded with exactly what she's not saying.

Again, he doesn't have much to say to that, but she doesn't seem to need a response.  He helps load her bags into Nicole's cruiser and waits for her to get inside before heading back home.  On autopilot, he puts everything away, entirely focused on what she'd said. Is he happy? He's probably as happy as he's ever been--he'd never given it much thought.  Maybe she was right, though. Maybe it'd be good for him. He's not doing himself any favors by staying hung up on Wynonna.

So, maybe it  _ is _ time to move on.

With that thought comes a certain, well, certainty, and he doesn't think too hard about it when he dials the number.  It's not until the phone starts ringing that he thinks it might be a little too late to be calling someone, and he covers his eyes with one hand and waits, half-hoping she won't pick up--but she does, sounds worried when he says who it is, so he adds in a rush, “I just wanted to ask if I could show you around?”

\--

What's eating at Wynonna isn't that Dolls very clearly got asked out--it  _ isn't _ \--it's that he's lying about it.  Badly.

And maybe it's a little bit that he got asked out?

Frankly, she fails to pretend she really doesn't care.  She's been failing to pretend she doesn't care for, like, nearly a week--during which she talks to Nicole about it  _ once _ , right after (she'd tried to joke about it, but it came out hollow and telling and she didn't really like the knowing way Nicole had looked at her), thinks about bringing it up to Doc (messy, even for her), and starts to mention it to Waves before realizing she has nothing she can really say.  Like, they aren't a couple. The frozen lump in her gut weighs her down, but she doesn't really see much that can be done. She can't help but think that--regardless of what happens right now, with that woman--maybe they just aren't supposed to happen. It's not that she believes in fate like that, but maybe the fact that the only times they get flung together are times when they're reasonably certain they're gonna die (or, notably, when one of them actually does die) means that they were never supposed to be like that.  It makes sense, after all. Something always wedges itself between them. Maybe it's best they stop trying.

Like, the thought doesn't make her feel any better, but she wonders if maybe she missed her chance--she doesn't broach the subject with him again after that day, and if he does call her, he keeps it a secret from her.  And maybe that's what does it, the fact that suddenly they've moved several steps back--they talk about work, it's uncomfortably stiff, and she feels almost like she's missing part of herself. She never realized how much time they spent together until they reverted to their approximation of strictly professional, and she sure as shit didn't realize how much she relied on being able to just… bullshit with him, and push his buttons, and  _ talk _ to him until that stopped being an option. 

It takes her a little bit longer to accept that that's actually her fault for freezing him out.

So, once she does, she tells herself the next morning she's gonna do what she does best--cross the bridge she burned by staunchly ignoring that she ever set a fire.  She marches into the station with his favorite kind of bagel and coffee just how he likes it--determined, if not to, like, move forward (whatever that means), then to at least get back to where they were because she  _ hates _ not talking to him.  He's not there, though, which is super weird, but she takes her seat and shoves his breakfast across the table.  Before too long, the door opens, but it's Nicole, and she's holding a bag from the donut place that Wynonna loves but is like half an hour away.

“What's wrong?” she asks as the bag is placed in front of her.  Inside is a maple bacon bar and a breakfast burrito, so she thinks her suspicion is justified. 

“Can't I do something nice?  You are my favorite of my girlfriend's sisters,” Nicole responds innocently, which does nothing to ease her skepticism. 

“I sure hope I'm your favorite,” she mutters, shoving as much of the donut into her mouth as she can.  The look she gets is mildly disgusted, but there's something like sympathy there. Or worry. Something in the way her eyebrows are tilted.  “Thanks, but, uh, what's up?”

When Nicole says, “Dolls went on a date last night,” it doesn't really fully process, but she feels a little bit like the air’s been knocked out of her.

Eventually, though, she realizes they're sort of staring at each other.  “Oh,” she says, and it sounds hollow. Then, “Good for him, maybe he got laid.  I wonder if it'll loosen his ass up.”

It doesn't even sound convincing to her ears, but she swallows whatever it is that's making her throat ache.  This is different--it's not like with Doc and Rosita. It hits her that it's probably a “guy she never slept with” thing that's the difference.

Nicole is still eyeing her doubtfully, but she's saved--in a manner of speaking--when Dolls comes in.  He looks…  _ pleased _ , and boy does that cut straight through her, but she gives him a quick smile before telling Nicole in undertone, “Thanks again.  For breakfast. And for the record, you're my favorite of my sister's girlfriends.”

Rolling her eyes, Nicole makes a show of shoving her shoulder before muttering something about needing to actually get to work.  On her way out the door, she nods to Dolls with a quick, laughing, “Agent.”

“I got you breakfast,” Wynonna says lamely as he comes closer to the table.  With a little more confidence, she adds, “And some little birdie told me you'd need it--how was your night?  Did you put out on the first date?” She gasps, “Are you late because you had to do the walk of shame?”

“Do you have to be so crass?” he demands, but she thinks she sees relief there.

As he opens the bag she'd brought him, she muses, “I wish I'd known--I'd have brought you something with protein.  Maybe some Gatorade. Rehydrate you.” It comes out more biting than teasing and she almost regrets it, but he just snorts.

“Thanks for the thought, I guess?”  He takes a bite and continues, “I could tell you  _ next _ time if that makes you feel any better.”

_ No,  _ she thinks,  _ It really doesn't _ .  

They eat in silence.  Her heart is thrumming somewhere up under her throat, and she's afraid of what's gonna come out if she opens her mouth.

Eventually, though, when she's sure she's got a pretty firm grasp on herself, she asks, “So, is there going to be a next time?”

The way he looks up at her feels a little like he forgot she was there, and right now she wants nothing more than to not be there.  “Yeah, I think so,” he says at length. 

“Awesome,” she smiles, but it feels brittle.  “That's great, man.” Okay, that sounded unnatural, but he doesn't seem to notice.

She can't help wondering if maybe she's cursed in other ways--just when she resolves to try to mend their relationship-partnership-friendship-whatever, this happens.  It's like the universe is after her, personally, and she super doesn't appreciate it. After a few more minutes, during which he's started texting with this gentle smile she just can't keep staring at, she stands and gathers her garbage.  Now, he looks at her. 

“I just remembered, I promised Waves I'd help her with some archive stuff,” she lies.  “She thinks there might be something buried in there about the Triangle-slash-Hellmouth, so, uh.  Off to the dusty stacks I go.” She feigns enthusiasm, and if he catches on that it's fake, she hopes he chalks it up to the fact that she really, desperately hates helping with research.

This whole thing kinda carries on for about two weeks relatively easily.  The ache in her chest starts to dull--it still sucks and there are still moments she would almost rather feed herself to a bear than watch him check his phone again, but, like, good for him.  She means that, or at least she really thinks she does. Of course, it's easy only because her facetime with the guy has dramatically decreased--they don't do lunch every day, but often enough that she starts making her own plans which  _ usually _ involve Shorty's even though Doc staunchly refuses to serve her during traditional work hours, even going so far as to throw a knife  _ into the bar _ when she'd tried to steal a bottle when she thought he wasn't looking.  She was impressed, however grudgingly. Although she hates the emotion of it, she feels like there's a Dolls-sized hole in her chest that makes it  _ really hard _ to be as happy for him as she knows she should be. 

But they find an equilibrium.  They always do.

It helps that they get their monster with minimal people dying.  For all they're still supposed to technically be a secret, Wynonna wonders if other small towns have this kind of a mortality rate.  (She also wonders how there aren't more life insurance salespeople. It's possible she just doesn't understand how life insurance works, though, and she's not dedicated enough to look into it.)

They're celebrating at Shorty's--it's almost like normal, maybe even better than normal, add Wynonna loudly rehashes the defeat (well, with some choice embellishments).  “It's a real shame we went in there with protection, I kinda wanted to see how it was going to become, like, commitment or something,” she grins as Dolls shakes his head and shoves her gently.

Her laughter does in her throat when she sees Talia come in, and as she approaches and Dolls zeroes in on her, Wynonna blurts, “What're you doing here?”

The way Dolls looks at her makes her wish the ground would open up.  She can actually  _ feel _ Nicole and Doc staring at her, but her face is hot with  _ anger, _ not embarrassment. 

“I invited her, is that okay?” Dolls responds coolly.

“Yeah, of course, why wouldn't it be,” Wynonna says in a rush, not quite apologetic but not as biting as it could have been.  “Uh, it's my turn to buy a round,” she tells Doc, reminding herself to not be a  _ complete fucking psycho _ .

After a breath, Doc turns his attention to the other woman and asks what she'll be having.  Wynonna only thanks god Waves is in the bathroom and didn't witness her absolute fucking freak-out.  A moment later, though, she returns, and with her comes the spirit of celebration. She says that Jeremy's on his way, should be there any moment. 

“Aw, I can't wait for him to start singing 80’s love songs to you,” Wynonna tells Doc.  Dolls at least snorts. “He is  _ big _ in love.  I think it's the mustache.  He was heartbroken when it got singed,” she explains, eyes not quite reaching Talia who  _ ah _ s in understanding.

“I happen to _ like _ being serenaded,” Doc replies primly.

It's not too long before Wynonna challenges Nicole to a round of darts, and Jeremy and Waverly get roped into pool with Dolls and Talia, and Wynonna tries not to look at them too often.  (That doesn't work.) As the evening progresses and Wynonna drinks more, jealousy rises in her throat like bile, souring her liquor, as she hears them laughing. They play--it's literally hit-or-miss and in the past Dolls has been _ horrified _ by their poor aim--until Wynonna accidentally throws a dart so hard it embeds itself in the wood  _ next _ to the board, at which point Nicole gently suggests they go have a seat at the bar.  Lips pursed, she agrees. She sees Nicole try to free the dart from the wall only to give up a moment later and, as Wynonna retreats to the bar, she makes her way over to Waverly's side.

“I stabbed your wall,” she tells Doc solemnly as she slides onto a stool.  She watches him look over, sees his gaze skip over to the party at the pool table, before it comes back to land heavily on her.

“You're going to fix that,” he says. 

Humming noncommittally, she wiggles her tumbler and asks, “Can I get another?”

With an appraising stare, he responds, “You can have a beer.”

“You're cutting me off?” she demands, offended.  She's barely even drunk! 

“First of all, you've already damaged my bar--”

“You throw knives at things all the time and I watched you escalate a fight not two days ago, John Henry Holliday,” she says, sitting up straighter in defiance.

“Do I need to remind you whose name is on the deed?” he asks not unkindly.  He leans a little closer and his face softens. “Wynonna, this is not her fault, and drinking more whiskey isn't gonna help.”

“I'll have a beer and I'll pay extra if you stop going all Dr. Phil on me,” she says sweetly.

“On the house,” he winks, taking her empty glass and setting a cold bottle in front of her.

While she sips and wallows, she can't not watch the others.  Because staring at Dolls hurts too much, her eyes end up locked on Talia who is, admittedly, kind of gorgeous in a “oh  _ that's _ what Aphrodite looks like” way, all olive skin and Greek nose, curly hair and doe eyes--shit, if not for the circumstances,  _ she'd _ probably be into her.  She smiles easily and kind of seamlessly integrates herself with the others and Wynonna just…  _ hates  _ that, and hates herself for hating it.  She only realizes she's glaring when she's caught glaring, and that's awkward, so she lets her glare be redirected until she's distracted by the sudden urge to pee.  It's not until until she stands that the room starts to wobble, but she makes it to the ladies’ room alright, hunches over her knees on the toilet even after she's finished because that's a super comfortable position and she's not super confident in her ability to get back up.  She hears the door open but whoever comes in doesn't go into one of the other stalls, doesn't call her name, nothing. If not for the sound of footsteps, she'd think it was just some drunk dude who opened the wrong door, saw the glaring lack of urinals, and realized where he was.  She heaves herself to her feet and wriggles her jeans back up.

She's still working out the mechanics of her zipper and button as she's leaving the stall, so she's not looking when she starts, “Doc, we  _ really  _ gotta have a conversation about gendered washrooms, you can't just--”

But it's not Doc.

It's Talia.  Because of course it is.

“Doc?” she asks, brow raised. 

“Bartender.”  She frowns, then corrects, “Owner.”

“No, I know, I'm just wondering why your first thought was that it was him,” she replies, and Wynonna can't tell if she can't read her tone because she's drunk or if that's her doing it on purpose.

“What can I say, sometimes you just need to have a heart-to-heart in a washroom,” she mutters as she starts to wash her hands.

“Uh-huh.”  Then, after a moment, “So, like, did I do something to offend you, or are you this way to everyone?”  That takes a few seconds to interpret, and before she can answer, Talia meets her eyes in the mirror and asks,  _ “Or  _ is this a ‘she's dating Xavier and I don't like that’ thing?”

With more force than necessary, Wynonna shuts off the faucet and turns to her, shoving her hair back.   _ “Dolls  _ can date anyone he wants, I don't take it as personal as you seem to think,” she lies.  “This is a ‘Dolls and I are really close and I don't fucking  _ know _ you’ thing.”

Talia gives her a look that makes her flush, pissy and embarrassed, but just gives her a dismissive, “Alright, then,” before turning on her heel and leaving her there.


	2. Chapter 2

After that night at Shorty's, Dolls starts bringing Talia around a lot more for non-work-related activities.  At first, Wynonna tries to swallow her ire--Doc was right, this _isn't_ Talia’s fault--but every time she sees her she can _feel_ her blood actually boil.  Under different circumstances, she'd probably embrace that--she's certainly never had an issue with making her presence _everyone's_ problem--but this is different because it actually _matters_ that Dolls looks at her all hurt like he can't understand why she's lashing out, and it actually _hurts_ when her sister tells her how childish she's being.  She supposes it's some sort of growth, knowing that it sucks that much because it's true.  So, she just… finds somewhere else to drink. It's not like there's not plenty of places to get liquor and no one cuts her off in her own barn.  The worst part, though, the actual, absolute worst part is when she starts swinging by the station. Wynonna never thought she'd feel possessive of a building full of cops, and yet here she is.

When she sees Dolls brought his own lunch one day, Wynonna asks, tone cutting, “What, no company?”

“Okay,” he says, setting his fork on the table with a clang.  “What's your deal?”

“There's no _deal_ , dude, I was just wondering where your girlfriend was because she's kinda become a fixture,” she snaps.  “Maybe she should join the division,” she suggests as the door behind her opens. She watches Jeremy look at Dolls, then at her, can practically see the gears turning in his head before he continues back to his computer.

“Yeah, just because I'm dating someone doesn't--” he stops, eyes hard and jaw set.  “Listen, you're my partner and my--my best friend, Wynonna. I need to know you have my back, and if there's something wrong that you need to share with the class…”

If pressed, she wouldn't say how she responds--she's too focused on the way it feels like she's been punched in the gut, and then in the head for good measure--she doesn't even hear her own words, but whatever she says must be satisfactory, and she makes some comment about needing to go grab something from the fridge.  This isn't the sting of rejection which she's felt before--this is something else entirely. Somehow, those words cut through her like nothing else ever has and it's confusing and it's ugly and it's _awful_ .  She's not this person!  She tells herself she's not this person, the person who pines, the person who feels their ribs _cracking_ with the weight of her anguish--she doesn't feel anguish over shit like liking a guy and watching him date someone else and hearing that she's his best friend.  She isn't the person who gets so wrapped up in it that the rest of the world disappears--except, apparently, now she is,and she's also apparently the kind of person who's so wrapped up in her own mind that she nearly walks into the men's room until a hand catches her elbow.  What she doesn't expect to find when she turns is Jeremy, and she certainly doesn't expect to find him looking up at her with pity.

“You don't wanna cry in the bathrooms here,” he says, nodding towards a hallway Wynonna knows holds cleaning supply closets and interrogation rooms.  “The tile amplifies the sound and everyone in the station can hear it.”

Curious, she follows him.  She follows him right into one of the closets.  “There is a really insensitive joke that wants to be made here,” she says, voice rough and eyes burning.

To her surprise, he laughs, and she watches him move a piece of plywood covering most of the back wall to reveal a narrow door.  “This whole part of the building is an addition,” he explains, leaning the plywood against the shelves next to them and opening the door.  “I'm not really sure why they left the closet behind this one, but it was in the building plans--which I obtained 100% legally.” That last part is said too quickly to be true, although how he could obtain them illegally is a mystery in and of itself, and he flips a lightswitch to reveal, well, a small closet, big enough for the two of them to sit, him on the floor and her on a bean bag chair of all things.

“How did you get this in here without…”

“Oh, Nicole helped one night when she was on graveyard,” he says offhandedly.  Then he adds, very seriously, “It's gay solidarity, we help each other out.”

Wynonna chokes on a laugh and pulls her knees up to her chest and tries _so hard_ not to let the tears threatening fall.  “So, what, this is--”

“I cry a lot,” he says, frank and unembarrassed.  “Sometimes about my mom, sometimes about Doc, sometimes because I'm sad for no reason--I mean, there's a reason, chemical imbalances and stress and generally being in a place where--the point is, I needed a place to go to do that and my apartment's a little too far to be convenient, so…”

“So you made a crying closet,” she hiccups, caught between a laugh and a sob.

“Yep.”  Crossing his legs, he looks down at his hands for a minute and then says, “You know, I think I loved him too at one point--I mean, like, I think I also sorta had this hero worship thing going on.  Like, he kinda took care of me and wouldn't let me accept some of Lucado’s shit, and I think I would have fallen in love with anyone who even kinda tolerated my presence.” He stops, swallows. “I don't really know why I thought that would help.  Except, I think you probably get it.”

It's the way he looks at her, honest and still and open, that makes her control slip, and it's all she can do to wrap her arms around her shins and bury her face into her knees as sobs wrack through her.  She feels him shift until he's kind of beside her, feels his hand, uncertain at first, on her shoulder. He doesn't say anything--doesn't try to comfort her or tell her to let it out--he just kinda sits there.  The tears burn like acid, her throat feels achy and tight, and after a while her head starts to throb and her eyes start to dry, but her breath stays shaky for a long time.

“For what it's worth,” he says quietly, once she's grown silent, “I'm sorry."

“You know?”  She isn't sure why she asks, she knows he knows.

“Well, I have eyes,” he responds, and when she looks up, he gives her a crooked, sympathetic smile.  “Look, I'm not _awesome_ at social cues, but, you know… powers of deductive reasoning.  Also, I spend a lot of time in that room. I think you guys forget I'm actually in there.”

He's not wrong, and guilt stabs at her.  Instead of replying, Wynonna scrubs at her sore eyes.

“Word to the wise, I would not do that if the goal is to _not_ look like you were just crying in a closet,” he offers.

She laughs, sniffs, and knocks her shoulder into his to mumble a vaguely mortified, “Thanks, for this.”

“That's what family does, right?”  They fall silent, but after a few minutes he says she looks normal enough to go back out.  As he's replacing the plywood over the door, he says hesitantly, “Please don't… tell anyone this is here.”

“Oh, yeah, no one needs to know that I know about the crying closet,” she nods.  “Just like no one needs to know this,” she gestures generally at her own face, “Happened.”

“Scout's honor,” he says, holding up the wrong number of fingers.

In a rush of fondness, she surges forward for a quick hug because she doesn't know how to say what she's feeling right now.  There's too much pain and guilt and gratitude all muddled together. She can't believe the levels of suckitude she's reached today, the feeling makes her legs and arms heavy, but he's smiling when she pulls away.  The room is empty when they get back to it.

“Hey,” she says suddenly.  “Did you already have lunch?”

\--

“Have I mentioned I really like your cooking?” Talia asks sleepily, head on his shoulder as Jurassic World plays even though he's pretty sure he's missed every minute of it.

“Hmm?”

Her head lifts and her eyes pierce into his.  “So, here's where I'm at: you've been distracted all night, and super quiet, and you seemed a little pissy when you picked me up, so what's up?” she demands.

“It's nothing, I'm sorry,” Dolls mutters quickly, sitting up a little.

It's really _not_ nothing, but since he doesn't know what _it_ actually _is_ , he doesn't really know how to explain it.  What he knows is that things have been weird since he started dating her, but he runs into a brick wall when he tries to figure out what it is.  He reasons that the gulf he feels between himself and his partner are his fault, he's the one trying to get over feelings, after all--but there's still a little voice in the back of his mind that he can't stifle that keeps going back to Wynonna because _Wynonna's_ been acting weird.  She's the one bailing every time any of them try to do anything outside of work, she's the one so cold to Talia at times he thinks he actually feels the temperature drop.  That little voice whispers, _What if you're wrong?  What if it's not just you?_ He can't get rid of it, and he hates how hopeful it sounds because it's a conversation he's had with himself ad nauseum.  And the thing is--he likes Talia. He's not planning a future with her or anything, it's still too new and they're still getting to know one another, but she's funny, and smart, and charming, and gets along well with _almost_ everyone in his life, and they mesh so well that--

“Seriously, you're doing it again, so it's not nothing,” she interjects, irritated.

“Things have just been off,” he says.  “At work.”

“With Wynonna,” she continues when he doesn't.  Suddenly, she pulls away and Dolls wonders what she sees in his face that makes her own go distant.  “Have you ever considered,” she starts slowly, not quite looking at him, “That your feelings for her extend well beyond the professional?”

This would be so much easier if she were mad, but all he can see is resignation and his gut clenches.  This isn't exactly a conversation he's equipped to be having--not now, certainly not with her.

“She's my partner,” he hedges lamely.  “We've spent almost every day together for years, we're--”

“Just really close?” she finishes with a bitter twist.  There's something like hurt in her gaze for a moment before she clears her throat.  “Do you wanna know what I think? I think you're a little full of shit, Xavier, and I dunno if you're lying to me or yourself, but I _do_ know that you wouldn't need to lie if I weren't right.”  At his silence--her words hit a little closer to home than he'd like to admit--she scoffs and stands.  “Honestly, I think you're hung up on her, and I'm not interested in dating a guy who's… This isn't fair to me,” she nods and starts to gather her things.

Without considering what his actual goal is, he stands too, feeling like he's been laid bare.  He feels like he's told a secret without saying a thing, and, more importantly, the truth of her words weigh down in him.  He frowns and when she tugs on her coat and whirls on him expectantly, all he can say is, “I'm sorry.”

“Yeah, well, seems like the two of you are made for each other, so it probably wouldn't have worked out anyway,” she replies coolly.  At his confusion, she shakes her head. “I can't believe I'm breaking up with you _and_ giving you advice on how to sashay into your next relationship--I really deserve a medal--but if I had to guess,” she pauses.  “If I had to guess, I'd say she's carrying a torch.”

He doesn't have a damn thing to say to that except, “Can I give you a ride home?”

“If it were summer, I’d say no,” she says grudgingly.

“Yeah, that's fair,” he nods as he grabs his own coat and keys and opens the door for her.  The ride is understandably awkward, but by the time he pulls up to her place, she doesn't seem angry or bitter anymore.  “I guess I'll see you around?”

“Well, since I took out a mortgage on the store, I think I can pretty much guarantee that,” she responds, looking forward.  “Purgatory’s a small place, after all.”

He apologizes again--it really wasn't fair to her, and he realizes now what a shitty thing it was, to use her to get over someone else.  After a thoughtful look, her head bobs once before she drops out of the SUV, slams the door behind her, and makes her way up her front steps, and it's more response than he thought he'd get.  Once she's inside and he sees a light come on, he pulls back into the main road. He doesn't really think about where he's going until he's turning into the driveway of the homestead--the Jeep and cruiser and truck all parked in front of it and when his headlights briefly light up the inside of the barn, he sees the bike gleaming.  For a few minutes after he shuts off the ignition, he sits in the cooling cab and wonders what exactly he thinks he's doing here.

“Ripping the goddamn band-aid off,” he grumbles as he shoves himself out.  His footsteps crunch up to the porch and he can hear a movie playing way too loud to be comfortable for anyone inside.

\--

“Did someone just knock?” Jeremy asks--he's closest to the door, so he'd know, Wynonna figures.

“Did we order food?” she frowns, Bagel Bite halfway to her mouth.  She feels like she would have remembered ordering takeout, but stranger things have happened.  When Waves mutes the TV, the silence is jarring and Wynonna's ears buzz a little, but then there's another knock.  They all kinda exchange a look--in the end, she and Nicole rock-paper-scissors for who has to get it. Wynonna laughs, triumphant, and she hears her mutter something about it being an insurance salesman.  “I told you that in confidence!” she gasps, twisting on the couch to rest her chin on the arm.

There's some mumbling, nothing any of them can make out, and she glances back at Waves as if she has any better idea what's going on.  Waves only shrugs, and after a minute she hears Nicole choke off a laugh and now she's _real_ curious.  The door shuts, and Wynonna's hit in the face with a coat as she hears, “It's for you.”

“Really only raises more questions,” she huffs, standing and tugging on the jacket.

Affectedly casual, Nicole breezes past her and drops back down next to Waves and unmutes the TV.  She's really pointedly _not_ looking at either sister and is oddly focused on a movie she didn't even want to watch to begin with.  Thoroughly off-put, Wynonna goes to the door, opens it, and finds Dolls, face grave and hands in his pockets.  She throws a look over her shoulder, as if she were expecting someone to pop out and tell her it's a practical joke, and steels herself before stepping out on the porch--he asks so quietly if they can talk that she almost doesn't hear it.

Almost.

“Yeah, um,” she shakes her head and shuts the door behind her.  “Let's, uh--” she nods towards the barn, arms crossed in front of her chest and heart thrumming.  There's a sick feeling in the pit of her gut that she's not entirely prepared to deal with. She wishes she hadn't eaten so much junk food.  “So, what's up?” she asks, trying not to sound as freaked as she is. After this afternoon, she almost doesn't trust herself--she'd spent the rest of the day trying to convince herself she could live with _best friend_ because she's not sure how well she'd core with the alternative.

“Talia and I broke up,” he says--then he looks surprised, as if that's not what he meant to say.  “I mean, she broke up with me, technically.”

She's not really sure how to respond to that but guilt weighs sour and heavy on her tongue and her whole body goes cold.  For a moment, they're just standing there in uncomfortable silence and Wynonna has no idea what he's feeling because she pointedly refuses to look at his face.  At length, she clears her throat and tries, “Did I--”

She doesn't know how to finish but she stops when she hears him take half a step forward.  Now, she looks up, and he looks like he's searching for something as he stares at her.

“No--not directly--it was all me,” he says haltingly.  It's only now that she realizes that he doesn't seem all that broken up about it, but that doesn't explain why he came _here_.

“That doesn't really…” she trails off.  “Why’d she dump you?” she asks bluntly.

“She was under the impression that I have some unresolved feelings.”  Now, there's no hesitation and his eyes bore into hers and she _wants_ to believe that he means what she thinks he means but she can't, needs to hear him say it, won't even think about the warmth rising in her chest until he does.  “And the thing is, she really wasn't wrong,” he continues. “Like, _really_ wasn't wrong, because I do, and instead of dealing with that I--Wynonna, when I met you, I thought you were gonna make my life a living hell, and you kinda did, I mean you definitely did your best--”

“Do these unresolved feelings involve anything other than reminding me what a mess I've made of your life?” she asks.  She tries to make it sound like a joke, but her voice is weak and she feels a little sick. “C'mon, man, I thought we were friends.”

“It gets better,” he says, “You… you did kinda make a mess of it--everything I ever knew is gone, but I never had what I have here before.  I wasn't _supposed_ to.”  Looking down, he frowns and seems to be thinking for a minute.  “You, like, rearranged everything and you _terrified_ me because no one's ever done that before, and suddenly you weren't _just_ my partner or my deputy or whatever.  And that was… awful.” She snorts unwillingly.  “It was--I was never supposed to _care_ this much, and I could never figure out where we were.  The world kept almost ending, and dealing with that was _way_ more convenient than dealing with the fact that, somewhere along the line, I kinda fell in love with you.”

A little dazed, Wynonna hears herself say faintly, “I feel like that's the most I've ever heard you say at one time.”

“Wynonna,” he sighs--she _knows_ he's going for exasperation but she also knows that tense tic in his jaw.

“What!  I'm--” she fumbles for a word, still a little numb, still a little anxious, still a lot incredulous.  “Surprised. Twelve hours ago you pulled the best friend card on me.”

“The statements ‘you're my best friend,’ and ‘I’m in love with you,’ are not mutually exclusive,” he says.  This time, at least, it kinda sinks it. He said it _twice_ \--not wishful thinking, not a misunderstanding.  He loves her--he's _in love_ with her.  As she's trying to reconcile all of that with everything that's been happening, with everything that's happened damn near since they _met_ , he starts backing away.  “So, that's why she broke up with me--because I tried to just… stop feeling that way.”

It registers that he sounds off, and that he's inching toward the door, and that now would probably be the _most_ appropriate time to _say something_.

“Wait,” she says, closing the distance between them to grab his wrist as if that's gonna stop a guy who can break out of handcuffs.  “Hi,” is all she comes up with for a second before she shakes her head.

“Hi?”

“Every time I saw her, or saw you texting her, I hated it,” she swallows and tries to make the next words that come out of her mouth intelligible.  “I thought I missed my chance, and having her as a reminder was balls, so I,” she pauses. “So I was a raging bitch.”

He laughs, and it sounds breathless, but she sees his shoulders relax and that warm feeling in the center of her chest makes her feel a little like she's gonna explode.  When his free hand comes up to her cheek, she gets this _holy shit is he gonna kiss me_ feeling before he wraps his arms around her and she's kind of shocked that she's happier with that.  She does her damnedest to, like, occupy the same space as him and buries her face into his neck and clings so hard to the back of his coat that her fingers ache.

\--

It should probably be at least a little weird that they just stand there for several minutes hugging in the barn, but Dolls isn't thinking about that.  He's thinking about the smell of her shampoo and the feeling of her in his arms and how she thought she missed her chance. After a while, she tells him she's pissed at him for not just saying something before.  She says that he's not the only one whose life was flipped upside down, that she thought after all this time she'd just fucked up too much. He thinks but doesn't say that, probably, neither of them really knows what they're doing, and doesn't say that they both could have saved a ton of time if they'd just talked.  Mostly because he's as much at fault as she is, so he's willing to pull a “no tears over spilt milk.” She says she loves him and calls him a doofus for leading with how she ruined his life and tells him that they're not gonna do _anything_ the literal day he got dumped and he agrees to all of it.  When they finally break away, her smile is cautious but her eyes are bright and it kinda cracks through his chest like lightning.

“Do you wanna come inside?” she asks.

“Do you promise to turn down the volume on the TV?” he counters, letting his head dip until their foreheads are pressed together.  Her hum certainly could be interpreted as an agreement if he didn't know her better--not that it matters, he'd probably follow her just about anywhere right now.  “Does that make this our first date?” he teases, lightheaded and lighthearted and _light_.

“If this is a date, I'm also dating my sister, Nicole, and Jeremy,” she responds.

“So, no then.”

“Besides,” she says thoughtfully as they make their way slowly back to the house and her hand finds his, “I feel like, after all this time, I--we can probably do better.”  When she stops and looks up at him, somehow challenging and curious and sweet all at once, crisp moonlight almost makes her look fae. “I think we deserve better.”

“And I'm absolutely not allowed to kiss you right now?” he asks helplessly.

“Absolutely not,” she grins, “We're leaving room for Jesus for at _least_ a week.”

He lets that rest for a moment before asking as casually as he can, “You think you can do a week?”

“Two weeks,” she says easily, tugging him along.  “Are you done? Because if there's anything I like more than sex, it's winning.”  He holds up his free hand in surrender and she seems satisfied.

At the front door, she drops his hand, and he doesn't question it because he kinda thinks he knows why (although, a small part of his brain reminds him that's how he got in trouble in the first place).  He follows her inside where someone must have gotten sick of their ears bleeding because whatever they're watching is at a normal level. After hanging up their coats, they go into the living room where Jeremy sees him first and sits up a little straighter but neither he nor Waverly look all that surprised to see him.  He watches Nicole's eyes bounce from him to Wynonna and can practically hear the gears in her head turning. Too observant, that one.

She doesn't say anything and Wynonna asks if he wants something to drink.  When he says yes more out of form than anything else, she says, “Cool, you know where the kitchen is.”

He looks at her a little sideways but she just grins innocently as she drops onto the couch.  

It takes three days for Waverly to ask about Talia, approaching him before anyone else has come in--he's not sure what he thinks at first, whether she's pretending not to know or if Wynonna really didn't tell her.  It occurs to him that it's probably that second one and he wonders if maybe it's _not_ just his and Wynonna's relationship that suffers because, admittedly, none of them are _awesome_ at communicating.

“We just didn't work out,” he explains cautiously.  “Which makes sense, she made some pretty good points about my feelings being elsewhere.”

“And how do we feel about that?” she asks just as carefully.

“We feel fine, Waverly,” he says.  “Really. She's a great person, I just wasn't an awesome… boyfriend… date, thing.”

She sits there thoughtfully for a moment and then asks, “Is that why you came to the homestead?  Because--” she stops.

“I think you and Wynonna probably need to talk,” he tells her gently, mostly because he's not sure _why_ Waverly hasn't been told, but partially to extricate himself from this conversation.  She looks a little crestfallen, so he nudges her shoulder with a small, private smile and says, “But things are good, okay?  We're good.”

What he means is, “We're _all_ good.”

Something like understanding lights her eyes as she breaths a quiet, “Oh.”

He winces, “I mean that in the most general way possible.”

“You mean you two aren't--”

The door bangs open and he's never been more thrilled to see Jeremy, honestly, but he's much happier to see Wynonna following close behind holding, like, eight cups of coffee in total.  She favors him with a quick, warm smile--he wonders if part of the secrecy isn't about the fact that they haven't actually started dating yet and instead is because she just likes having a secret--before setting the stacked drink carriers down and announces, “Three of these are for me--related, I think there's a demon raccoon living in our attic.”

\--

It takes Wynonna nine days to do what she knew she had to do the moment Dolls told her what happened.  In her defense, it's awkward and uncomfortable and _way_ easier to let Talia just hate her--not that this guarantees she won't still hate her.  May still hate her more. Honestly, she's not sure what she thinks she's gonna get out of it, but it's a necessary evil.  Plus, she's done enough damage in Purgatory without remorse. So, she stands there in front of the store, working up the courage to go inside, practicing what she's gonna say.

Eventually, she pushes through the door, little bell overhead jingling to announce her presence.

“I'll be right with--” Talia stops when she turns and sees her.  “Awesome. I should have taken the shipment of broken ceramic angels as an omen, apparently.”

“Okay, I deserved that,” Wynonna mumbles.

“To put it mildly,” she smiles coolly.  “What're you doing here? I'm guessing you got what you wanted.”

Wynonna opens her mouth but the words don't come immediately.  It's embarrassing--what she's doing now but also how she acted--and since she doesn't have a ton of working experience in this arena, it feels foreign and almost wrong.  “I came to apologize,” she says eventually.

As she leans forward, both elbows on the counter before her, Talia’s eyebrows raise incredulously.  “For getting the guy?” she presses.

“For being a raging bitch,” she corrects.  She sees the other gape and huff a surprised laugh and continues, “You didn't deserve all that, and Purgatory is a small place where a lot of weird shit happens.  We're gonna see each other again. I don't need you to, like, forgive me--we killed that demon a _while_ ago--I just… I don't want this hovering over me.”  After a pause, she adds a thoughtful, “Plus, I've heard it's what people do when they're wrong.”

“And this was your decision or the suggestion of--”

“No one else knows I'm here and frankly I'd like to keep it that way, this is all mortifying enough,” she interrupts in a rush.  The silence that follows is somehow more uncomfortable. “Anyway, I'm gonna go now, so, yeah. Later, I guess?”

She turns to leave and hears, “Later, Wynonna.”

Later, when she walks into the station, Dolls gives her an odd sort of look and says, “You're late.”

“Ugh, could you not be my boss for, like, a day?” she demands, feigning exasperation as she futzes with the coffee maker they finally bought just for them because she wouldn't stop bitching about the Keurig.  She can tell a pot has already been made and consumed this morning and frankly she's offended he wouldn't leave her some.

A hand lands low on her back as she feels him whisper against her ear, “Love, I'll be whatever you want.”  Then he adds at a regular volume as his hand falls away, “In five days, when it'll have been two weeks.”

“You are such an ass,” she says _entirely_ too fondly.  He winks at her and she shakes her head.  “So, what are we doing in five days?” she asks as she gets the coffee brewing.

“I thought I'd take you to an arcade,” he responds casually, and when she turns to give him an odd look, he explains, “To commemorate that time you played me and handcuffed me to a car when I thought we were gonna kiss.”

“I dunno why you're still talking about that, you got out alright,” she grins.  “Wait, you were gonna kiss me?”

“What did you think was going on there?” he asks, voice shaking with barely suppressed laughter.

“I was honestly more focused on the handcuffing, I'd never done it one-handed before,” she mutters.  She thinks but doesn't say that they wasted so much time. But now he's not suppressing his laughter _at all_ and hunches over with it, big and bright and warm and she can't be super annoyed with him when he's like _that_.  “Are you finished?” she asks as he starts to settle down.  “Because I'm pretty sure everyone in the station heard that and since none of them know you can laugh, they're bound to think you malfunctioned.”

As he wipes away an honest to God _tear_ , he sighs, “I really do love you, you know that?”

She plays at being unamused but she’s sickened to find she's got actual butterflies.

By day 12, she actually thinks she's gonna vibrate right out of her skin and she thinks Dolls is doing it on purpose.  Or maybe he's just always been this touchy and she's only just now realizing it? But that feels weak. She gets the distinct impression he's fucking with her--he doesn't do it when anyone else is around so it's not even like she can get someone to corroborate what's going on, and it all seems innocent enough _individually_ .  But all told he spends a _lot of time_ with his hands on her and it shouldn't be as hot as it is, he's not even touching any bathing suit zones.  Maybe it's just a Dolls thing or more accurately a she-wants-to-have-sex-with-Dolls-and-can-actually-realistically-anticipate-that-happening-in-the-near-future thing.  If she's honest, she actually does kinda like it--hands on her knee or her thigh or her hip or her back, fingers combing her hair back or massaging her neck or tangling with hers, not possessive like she's felt with others before but present.  When she _asks_ if he's trying to make her break her own rule, he feigns ignorance, which pretty much answers _that_ question.

Day 13 is so fast-paced and exhausting and just _awful_ \--it's been so long since she'd taken down a Rev that Wynonna had almost forgotten what it's like, they're always so busy cleaning up Black Badge’s mess--she forgets what day it is until they trudge back to the station, her and Dolls.  The thing is, they wouldn't even have come back here but she left her phone. And her keys. And her coat.

Lucky for her, Dolls had an extra.

She tries not to be too obvious when she hunches her shoulders and breathes into the collar.  He holds the door open for her and she dashes inside to find her phone blown up with _roughly_ 50 combined calls and texts from Waverly ending about fifteen minutes ago when Dolls was finally at liberty to check _his_ phone.  She doesn't take his coat off and instead folds hers over her arm and puts her stuff in his pockets.  With a yawn, she nudges into his chest until he wraps his arms around her and tucks her head under his chin.

“So, where’re you taking me tomorrow?” she asks lightly, tired enough to fall asleep standing.

“I dunno why you think I'm taking you somewhere, you said I could _kiss_ you after two weeks, that was the deal,” he responds, voice serious.

“You know what?  You're totally right,” she says to feel his laugh shake through her.

After a while--she closes her eyes and loses track--he jostles her and mutters, “C'mon, let's get you somewhere where sleeping is less frowned upon.”

“You're the only one who frowns when someone falls asleep here,” she replies pointedly as she follows him out.

With every step, the day starts to weigh on her more--they both took a few hits, she's sure she's gonna be bruised all over and she thinks she may have pulled something--and, she thinks, probably Dolls too if the slow, careful way he walks is any indication.  When they get to the SUV, he pauses with his hand on the handle and asks, “You wanna come back to my place?” She must give him an odd look because it follows it up with, “Like, I promise to keep my mouth to myself.”

“Weird way to put that,” she says, wrinkling her nose but smiling.  “Yeah, okay.”

The drive is quiet and she plays with the radio, catches him watching her do it a couple times before they finally park.  In spite of the fact that he has a bed, she knows he has a bed, and it's probably way more comfortable (for him), they end up on the couch.  She can't complain much, she ended up (literally) on top, head on his chest where is heartbeat against her ear feels weirdly comforting. She had thought about _commenting_ on the fact that he has a bed, but then he'd pulled the throw off the back of the couch over them and started rubbing her back and she'd thought, _Well, I can live with this._ Warm and drowsy, she starts to doze off when she feels lips press to her forehead and she snorts.

“Felt that, huh?” he asks wryly.

“Yep,” she pops without looking up.  “At least I can sleep soundly knowing you broke first.”

“There is no way that counts as breaking first,” he protests.

She opts not to respond, and she must fall asleep pretty quickly because when her eyes open, sunlight is filtering through the curtains and the cable box says it's like seven in the morning.  Shooting upward like a kid on Christmas, she holds for a minute because she can count the number of times she's seen Dolls sleeping on one hand and it kinda makes her chest ache. She decides that gets weird pretty quick, so she kinda almost-gently shakes him awake with a quiet, “Boss, get up, I have to tell you something.”

He grunts something like, “Hmmwhu?” and starts to sit up, and the fact that he seems to have forgotten that a fully grown adult woman is on top of him is pretty incredible.  She snickers as she watches the sleep fade from his eyes and as he tries to look offended. “What?”

“Good morning to you too,” she says, laughter barely contained.  His face goes very rapid from confusion to understanding to something like cautious excitement and she doesn't really wait to kiss him so hard it hurts--like, actually hurts enough for him to gasp and she jerks back with a sheepish apology.

The next one is somewhat gentler, and the one after that is so slow and warm and _right_ that she almost gets dizzy with it.  It doesn't go much further, but she's kinda relishing the lack of urgency.  She can't quite put her finger on why--she just doesn't mind laying there with him dropping light pecks to any part of him she can reach, content and comfortable in a way that feels alien.

“Can we be late?” she asks quietly.

“Yeah,” he agrees absently.  “Yeah, I think we’ve probably earned that.”

 _Cheesy_ , she thinks as he tucks her hair behind her ear.

**Author's Note:**

> Uhhh, hi, everyone! I'm back after one super long hiatus, a whole host of tech issues, some other setbacks... breakups, work stuff, life... you get the gist. 
> 
> Sorry for any glaring formatting errors, I'm actually writing fic on a smartphone right now which is working About As Well As You'd Guess. 
> 
> Swing by my [Tumblr ](http://johnisntevendead.tumblr.com) and talk to me about these uncommunicative dweebs!


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